


Draco's Dogma

by Crumple_Horned_Snorkack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anthropology, Biology, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Genetics, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Religious Discussion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-04 22:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16798741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crumple_Horned_Snorkack/pseuds/Crumple_Horned_Snorkack
Summary: Hermione has decided to leave the Wizarding world behind to study biology at Oxford with the eventual plan of studying Wizard genetics. She is prepared to deal with all the bits of various Muggle culture she is out of touch with. What she isn't prepared for is Draco Malfoy turning up in her class. As the teacher.





	Draco's Dogma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rebaeza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebaeza/gifts).



Chapter One: Science vs Religion

Hermione Granger was happy, thank you very much. Though some would see the Witch going back to school, a Muggle school no less, after five years of working at the ministry, as a step backwards, Hermione felt like she was back in her element. Taking out her notebook for this class and her multi-colored biros, she arranged her things on the long desk in front of her. Honestly she was so looking forward to being able to use biros. Quills were very aesthetic but you had to re-ink them constantly and they tended to spill and splatter everywhere. And of course the spelled quills that wrote more smoothly cost you more than the regular ones. Not that she was poor but it just seemed like extortion to her when you could get a pack of a dozen biros in different ink colors for a pound. Hermione was also looking forward to lined paper. And pencils. And computers and printers. In fact she had been practicing her typing on the small but serviceable laptop she’d bought and she was about as fast on it now as she was writing by hand. She was pretty proud about that, especially since she hadn’t typed much since she was 10, and she was also proud of the nifty charm she had invented for the office of her flat that allowed her new computer and printer to work without interference from magic. Hermione fussed with her books again, trying not to think about why she was currently living in a flat. By herself. Well and Crookshanks. She made an impatient huff to herself, looking around at the other students filing into her first class. There was no need to be nervous. She had always been an impeccable academic, even during the stress of sixth year and the weirdness of eighth year. Just because she hadn’t been in Muggle education didn’t mean she would suddenly become a bad student. It just might take a bit of getting used to. And really, that had been part of the point of coming back: to reconnect with her Muggle side.

Hermione was startled out of this last thought by a thermos being shoved in front of her.

“Relax, Jesus, it’s just tea,” said the woman the thermos was attached to in an American accent, “you look like you could use some.”

“Oh,” replied Hermione, blushing a bit at her own jumpiness, “uh, thank you.” She politely accepted the tea the woman poured out for her. It wasn’t the normal black tea she was used to. It was light and fragrant, smelling of orchids and grass and it was amber instead of brown. “This is delicious,” Hermione told her companion, “I’ve never tasted tea like this before.”

“It’s oolong,” the woman replied as if this explained everything. Then she held out her hand to shake Hermione’s, “I’m Becky.” Becky was on the shorter side of average, and had a long nose, freckles, grey eyes and messy dark brown curls which seemed to have been stuck rather haphazardly into a ponytail. Hermione sympathised. She was wearing dark grey jeans and a light blue plaid shirt topped with an infinity scarf with cats on it. She gave off the aura of someone who liked to be comfortable and didn’t care what you thought of it.

“Hermione, pleased to meet you.”

“Like from Shakespeare? Nice. Very posh,” Becky smirked. Hermione raised her eyebrows at her. That was possibly the first time anyone had called her posh. Draco Malfoy was posh. Hermione was, well, just normal.

“Maybe if you’re American,” Hermione laughed.

Becky turned to her looking extremely offended.

“I,” she said with great dignity, “am Canadian.”

“Oh, uh, sorry?”

“You should be,” was all Becky replied. Then she pointed with her chin to the front of the class where the professor was fiddling around with a computer.

“Hello everyone,” he greeted the class distractedly, “Just a mo. I can never get these blasted things working properly.” He fiddled with the keyboard, then his glasses, then his sweater vest, then his pants pockets, and then made a happy noise as a slide popped up onto the big screen behind him. It had a picture of a double helix strand of DNA with cartoon eyeballs and a smile.

“Welcome to Biochemistry 101.”

Hermione grinned at Becky and picked up her purple biro.

*

Happily for Hermione, she and Becky shared almost every class since they were both doing their degree in biochem. Hermione was well pleased to have stumbled across a friend so early in the semester, especially one she got on with so well. She had bad memories of those first months at Hogwarts before winning the friendship of Harry and Ron when she had been extremely lonely and homesick. She reminded Harry of this as they sipped tea together at the Leaky Cauldron.

“Merlin Hermione,” Harry groaned, putting his face in his hands, “when will you stop reminding me of what a berk I was in school?”

“When I deem you have suffered enough,” she told him primly. Hermione felt it was her duty to keep Harry level headed. Not that this was too difficult. Once the war and its aftermath were over, and Harry’s testosterone had settled from its raging pubescent levels, he’d turned out to be a pretty steady bloke. He’d always hated the fame and scrutiny he’d endured as The Boy Who Lived and he had immediately taken McGonagall up on her offer to apprentice to become a teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts and shut himself away from public life much to the secret admiration of Hermione and the not so secret disappointment of Kingsley Shaklebolt and heartbreak of Ron, who had gone straight into Auror training.

“Why are all the women in my life such hardasses?” Harry mumbled to himself, but without much rancour.

“Because you like people who like you for you and don’t let you get away with your shit because you’re famous,” Hermione answered him simply, taking a sip of tea, “also we remind you of your mother.”

Harry laughed and scratched at the back of his head in that endearing way he did when he was slightly uncomfortable but knew he shouldn’t be, “well yeah, I guess there is that. But I certainly didn’t know that about my mum when I met most of you.” Hermione shrugged, refusing to concede the point.

“How is Ginny, by the way,” she said instead.

“Oh good!” Harry said enthusiastically and beamed at her, “she’s really doing well with the Harpies. I’d explain but I know how much you hate Quidditch talk,” He teased. Hermione sputtered indignantly.

“Oh so will you be proposing soon then,” she asked in retribution causing Harry to nearly choke on his tea.

“I uh… well…”

Hermione just sat there sipping her tea watching in amusement as her best friend turned the same color as a tomato.

“Actually, I was thinking… maybe at Christmas…”

“Oh Harry!” Hermione jumped up to give him a hug across the table, “I’m so pleased! That’s a wonderful idea! She’ll love that.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon happily chatting about how exactly Harry should propose, what sort of ring to get, what sort of wedding they would have… It wasn’t until Hermione was back in her own apartment, petting Crookshanks and trying to read about the how RNA copied DNA that she allowed herself to let out a wistful sigh. Not long ago Hermione had thought she would be getting married soon as well. But she couldn’t really complain that her and Ron’s relationship hadn’t ended up where they had both envisioned. After all, she had broken up with _him_.

*

“Becky,” Hermione turned to her new friend with a raised eyebrow, “Why are you following me?”

“Because you pull me towards you like a moth to a flame. Actually I just like the Archeology library. It has dinosaur skulls.”

Hermione snorted but didn’t complain as they walked together across the Oxford campus. Hermione was trying not to fidget. Her nerves had slowly relaxed over the week, but today was the first class she had for the Anthropology minor Hermione was taking. She figured studying human culture dovetailed nicely with studying DNA. After all they both evolved along with humans. As well, as a Muggle born fighting in the Second War Hermione had always been interested in the clash of cultures. For a long time she had felt like a stranger everywhere she went. Hermione found a lot of Wizarding culture, especially Pureblood culture, obscure and incomprehensible, but she also found she no longer fit into Muggle culture either, especially with her parents gone. She didn’t know any Muggle pop stars or television shows, she was even woefully ignorant of Muggle current events. She knew Harry felt the same sometimes but in a lot of ways it was easier for him. Besides the fact that the whole Wizarding world was (much to his chagrin) in love with him, both his parents had been wizards, and Harry hadn’t had much attachment to his Muggle family and upbringing. Still, they often shot each other significant looks when some ministry official would mispronounce a Muggle word or some Pureblood would exclaim “well it just isn’t _done_.” Hermione’s first Anthropology class was, uninspiringly, called “Religion 101.” She had always been confused about where religion intersected with modern Wizarding culture. On the one hand it seemed pretty secular, but on the other, they’d always celebrated Christmas. She knew from History of Magic that before the Statute of Secrecy Wizards had often been seen as spiritual leaders but it was unclear if that had been due to any actual faith. Hermione herself had grown up atheist so she didn’t have any personal experience with religion. She was interested to study it from an academic perspective.

“Are we getting together to study the KREB cycle tonight?” Becky asked as they reached the door of Hermione’s class. Hermione looked down at her watch: class was starting in 10 minutes.

“Yeah sure,” she replied distractedly. She opened the door a crack, “damn, the professor is already here, I better get going.” Becky peered over Hermione’s shoulder.

“Jesus, why is your Anthro prof so young and fit?!” she exclaimed. Hermione did a double take. It was true. The professor was leaning into the lectern at the front of the class. He was long and lean, something that was highlighted by the tailored charcoal trousers and white button down shirt he was wearing. He had his hands braced across the top of the lectern as he looked down, a thin silver silk tie brushing the stack of papers he was organizing. The pose showed off some impressively broad and muscular shoulders for someone so angular. His blonde head was bent, fine hair falling forward, so she couldn’t get a good glimpse of his face but she got the impression of high, sharp cheekbones.

“Weird,” she said, “I thought this class was taught by a woman…” Hermione murmured, digging out her agenda to make sure she had got the right classroom. She had.

“Wow,” Becky exclaimed breathlessly, “Hermione! Look.” Becky smacked Hermione on the arm to get her attention. Hermione looked up and gasped.

It was Draco Malfoy.

*

Hermione slammed the door shut.

It was Malfoy. Malfoy was in her class. In Oxford. In a _Muggle_ University. Not only that but he appeared to be teaching. Hermione felt like she was going insane. Why was he here? No one had seen Malfoy in years. Hermione had always assumed, when she had bothered to think about it at all, that he’d skulked off the continent somewhere. Honestly she _hadn’t_ given it much thought. Why would she? Even if he had just been a kid during the war he had still been an insufferable git who had teased and tormented her. And sure he hadn’t identified Harry to Voldemort when they were in Malfoy Manner but he had still stood there while Bellatrix had _tortured her_. He had still called her a Mudblood and had hoped that the monster in second year would kill her. He was an asshole and a bigot and _why was he here?!_

“Oh God…” she moaned and felt her back hit the wall and start to slide down as she clutched at her hair.

“Hermione?” Becky asked, her tone concerned.

“I think I’m having a panic attack…” Hermione mumbled as her butt hit the floor and her breathing went ragged.

“What? Why- it’s okay Hermione, just breathe.”

Becky’s worried face swam in front of Hermione as her friend took her hands in her own and started leading Hermione through some deep breathing. When Hermione’s gaze focused a bit more Becky smiled at her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Becky asked gently.

“I- he-” Hermione started but paused. How could she explain her tangled past with Malfoy without breaking the statute of secrecy? What a ridiculous situation.

“The teacher?” Becky prompted. Hermione took a deep breath and nodded.

“He is… I mean he was, my high school bully.” Hermione told her finally. After all, it was true, even if it wasn’t the whole truth.

“Ooooh,” Becky replied, “fuck.”

Hermione snorted at that summation of the situation.

“Yeah.” She replied, smiling crookedly.

“Well there’s nothing for it then,” Becky said as she stood up and pulled Hermione up after her. She put her ever present thermos in Hermione’s hand and the Witch took a grateful sip of the calming and fragrant liquid. It as Earl Grey today, Hermione’s favorite.

“Nothing for what?” Hermione asked, handing the tea back in shaking hands. Luckily the thermos was leak proof.

“You have to go in.” Her friend stated matter-of-factly.

“What? Why?”

“Because,” Becky started ticking off reasons on her fingers, “first of all, I know you are a bit older, so it’s been a while since high school. Maybe he’s different. Maybe he grew up like the rest of us. You don’t know. We are all idiots in high school. I know I was.” Hermione snorted at the idea that Malfoy could have changed but then she remembered the conversation she had had with Harry just the other day where he had asked if she would ever forgive him for being a berk in school. She had joked that she wouldn’t but it had just been a joke. Harry _had_ changed, had grown up. It wouldn’t be fair to treat him like the impulsive hot-head he’d been, and maybe Becky was right. Maybe Malfoy had changed. No one had seen or heard from him since eighth year and here he was surrounded by Muggles. Hermione tipped her head acknowledging Becky’s point.

“And secondly,” Becky continued, and broke into a grin, “nothing pisses off bullies more than being ignored and shown that they have no power to affect you.”

Hermione suddenly grinned back. It was true. She had often suggested that Harry and Ron ignore Malfoy. He could only hurt her feelings if she let him.

“So,” Becky commanded as she straightened Hermione’s jacket, “you are going to walk in there with your head held high and you are going to show that asshole that you aren’t afraid of him and that you are going to fucking ace this class because you are awesome and smart and better than him in every conceivable way. Right?”

“Right.” Hermione replied with an only slightly false sense of determination.

“Good. You can do it. I believe in you!” And with that proclamation Becky opened the door to the classroom and practically shoved Hermione inside before she could change her mind.

*

Draco Malfoy was a fool and a coward. He knew this about himself. It had taken him a tragically long time to figure it out but it had dawned on him in a giant rush of understanding that horrible night he had stood and watched his aunt torture Hermione Granger. Something about watching the Witch he had hated and been jealous of for his entire adolescence being reduced to a screaming mess had broken Draco. It was wrong. It didn’t matter if she had Muggle parents. Honestly, a voice had whispered in the back of his mind, he had known this for years. If he, the Pureblood scion of one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain, wasn’t be better at magic and couldn’t top her marks, then how exactly were Purebloods superior to Muggleborns? It didn’t make any sense. But his ego and the indoctrination of his parents hadn’t let him believe the evidence in front of him that Granger was superior to him in almost every way except maybe at Quidditch. But Potter, the son of a Muggleborn, had been. Honestly Draco now wondered how anyone could believe all the pureblood nonsense. Well he knew how. He’d spent the last six years studying it. Cognitive dissonance is a powerful thing. It might have even been that pesky cognitive dissonance that had caused Draco’s current bout of being a fool and a coward. But really who was he kidding? How many Hermione Grangers could there reasonably be? As much as he’d pretended to himself that the name on the class manifest he’d received when he had agreed to teach this class was some _other_ woman, he had known, not very deep down, that it had to be _the_ Hermione Granger. _His_ Hermione Granger. He should have found a way to talk to her, to warn her he would be here. He had her email address, it would have taken a few minutes. Or he should have turned down the teaching opportunity when he’d seen her name. Something. But he had lost his nerve and now it was too late. She was here, and the look on her face when she had spied him through the door had been like a kick in the teeth. She was clearly shocked, upset, and angry. She had slammed the door to the classroom shut almost the instant she had locked eyes with him and that had been ten minutes ago. Draco sighed to himself but straightened his shoulders the way his mother had taught him and busied himself with handing out the course outline, smiling at the students as he walked up the rows of seats. He was already back at the front of the classroom and had just opened his slideshow when he heard the door open and close. Like iron filings to a magnet the whole class turned and watched as Granger walked into the room. Draco couldn’t help but turn as well, his mouth going dry nervously. Chocolate eyes bore into his as she stood in the door just long enough to make sure Draco saw her. She was wearing that stubborn determined expression he remembered so well from school. The one that indicated that she had determined the proper course of action and damn anyone who contradicted her or got in her way. Her chin was raised and her eyebrows were drawn down. Her shoulderblades were almost over flexed in her attempt to look straight-backed and poised. It actually betrayed some nervousness as she had always had pretty good posture as it was. Still, Draco didn’t take it as a sign of weakness. He’d learned better than to test Granger when she looked like that. He knew what her determination could accomplish. Winning a war for one thing.

Draco lowered his gaze first but watched her through his lashes as she walked across the classroom to sit right in the front row. Great. As if he hadn’t been nervous enough, now he had to contend with Granger staring him down like a basilisk all class. She looked good too, he noticed. She was just wearing a fitted pair of dark muggle jeans and a burgundy jumper but she had clearly grown into herself since the last time he’d seen her. Her riotous curls had been tamed somewhat so that they created sleek ringlets instead of a frizzy mess and she had moonstone and garnet earrings that caught the light and drew attention to her face and eyes. She had also evidently filled out now and he had noticed some generous curves hidden beneath her practical muggle clothes. Draco coughed and turned his attention back to the slideshow he had projected onto the screen behind him. Silently thanking his mother for the etiquette lessons she had made him suffer through during his childhood that allowed him to turn on his charm at the drop of a hat, Draco smiled up at the assembled students, catching the eyes of as many as possible though skipping Granger’s in instinctual self-preservation.

“Hello everyone,” he addressed the assembly grinning, “As I’m sure you can tell, I am not, Dr. Maria Nestor. She is definitely much prettier than me.”

“I think you’re very pretty Professor!” Shouted a student Draco had TAed last year to a round of chuckles.

“Thank you Cynthia,” he replied, rolling his eyes, “Sadly Dr. Nestor had to go on maternity leave a few months earlier than expected and her replacement won’t be available until next term so it has fallen to me, her lowly Teacher’s Assistant, to muddle through Religion 101.” Draco clicked on the keyboard in front of him and the slide switched from saying “Religion 101” to his name.

“My name is Draco Malfoy. I know. My parents had strange tastes in names and decided to name me after a constellation,” this also got a few smiles and even a snort which Draco suspected came from Granger. “As my erstwhile students you may call me Mr. Malfoy, Professor Malfoy, or Draco. Anyone who calls me Drake however will lose a point off their final exam per use,” he sent a mock glare around the room then said with exaggerated dignity “I’d rather be a dragon than a duck, all things considered.” The students chuckled again and Draco sighed in relief. The start was always the hardest.

“Now we must unfortunately get through the boring bureaucracy of reading the course syllabus however as you no doubt ignore me as I go through it I would like you all to consider this question: what is a religion?”

They spent the next half an hour going through the syllabus while various students started to nod off. Draco couldn’t help but notice however that Granger was busy scribbling in her notebook. He tried not to notice that she had seven different biros in different colors and he certainly didn’t smile at how… _Granger_ that was.

When they were done with the syllabus, Draco moved to the next slide which blared out the Hallelujah chorus from Handel’s _Messiah II_ at top volume in order to startle the somnolent students back into paying attention.

“So,” Draco looked around, trying not to smirk at the students who had jumped at the music. He may be trying to be a better person but he wasn’t above a bit of schadenfreude, “who wants to take a stab at this question? Yes Cynthia?”

“Isn’t a religion a worldview that posits that there is an intelligence, like a God or Gods, that created the world and everything in it?”

“Well,” Draco replies, nodding at her, “religions are certainly a worldview, and many of them, if not most, fulfill your criteria, but for some that’s not true, and even for a religion as major as Buddhism, Gods are not important to the dogma of the religion. Anyone else?” Draco nodded at another student.

“Shouldn’t we make a distinction between a religion and spirituality?”

“Should we?” he replies, raising his eyebrows, “and what is the difference?”

“Well… like, religions have rules, and stuff.”

Draco, with supreme self-control, did not roll his eyes.

“I believe you are referring to dogma, the rules and structured philosophies of an organized religion. Again, most religions do have dogma, but not all of them. Neopaganism for example often rejects the need for strict dogma and organization. There is also the fact that up until quite recently religion and spirituality were the same thing.” Draco scanned the auditorium for any other tries and swallowed uncomfortable as Granger raised her hand. Finding himself unable to speak he simply nods at her.

“I feel,” she started, then coughed and seemed to gain confidence, “like with most things in life, especially with humans, I imagine the definition is slightly ambiguous.”

Draco couldn’t help but grin at her, “yes, that is my point exactly.”

They spent the rest of the class comparing the different definitions of religion posited by various anthropologists and philosophers.

As the class started to file out at the end, Draco plucked up his courage and stopped Granger.

“Can I have a word?” He asked. She didn’t reply but stood still, letting everyone else pass with her arms crossed.

“Look, Granger, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you I was teaching this class. I only found out I would be teaching it a few weeks ago but… I should have emailed you… or something.” He finished lamely. Granger only continued to stare him straight in the eye, something Draco found exceedingly uncomfortable.

“Yes,” was all she said in reply, “you should have.” And with that she turned on her heel and left.

**Author's Note:**

> Hai! This is my first fic since I was a teenager so please be nice to me! Also I haven't quite had time to get this betaed but I'll probably repost it later in case of mistakes.  
> Can anyone suggest any more interesting tags?


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